To Mock a Killingbird
by Eric and Derek
Summary: Join Germ and Scruff as they take on Moo Radley to find out why their hometown of Haycomb, Alalalablama isn't quite as it seems. Parody by Derek.


_**A/N: **What hey? Derek writing on Fanfiction again? I know! How wonderfully wonderful! But anyways, I was inspired by the film "To Kill a Mockingbird" (novel by Harper Lee) to write this. It's no piss take, I just wanted to write a parody of it. But it's a nice parody. It's basically the story told with a few things changed and I shall reveal no more. It made me laugh so much writing this and I hope you at least spare me a chuckle. Oh, I know this chapter looks long, but it's mainly speech and one line paragraphs. It's smoke and mirrors baby! Later my lovely lovelies! Derek _

_**Disclaimer:** Alright, I don't know if I need a disclaimer or not, but it's always safer to write one. So, Harper Lee owns all the orginal characters; Jem, Scout, Boo and company, but I own these ones, okay? They are from inside my head. Oh, and also, the basic jist of the story is based on Harper Lee's novel, but it wouldn't be a parody really would it if I hadn't used it? Yes, it's a parody. I like that word too. Oooh, parody!_

_**Summary:** Join Germ and Scruff in their Alalalablama town of Haycomb, as they take on Moo Radley in their battle to understand why Haycomb isn't always quite what it seems. Funny Parody! Read on lovely people._

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**To Mock a KillingBird - part I**

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At the age of thirteen, my brother Germ broke his arm at the elbow. He was always complaining about how much it was ruining his life and inhibiting his abilities. But it was own bloody fault, so don't pity him.

We lived in the town of Haycomb in one of the quietest regions of Alalalablama. Although the day was twenty-four hours long, it felt longer…but that's just stupid and defies logic, but don't look at me, I was just told to say it. Blame the author.

Let's skip the boring bit and cut this short, okay? Haycomb was a boring old town, full of boring old things, and we were bored little children. Got it? Good. We shall proceed.

One summer's afternoon, my brother Germ and I were playing in our back yard. I was on the tyre swing and Germ was picking flowers. Yes, and Germ is a boy. I think God made a mix up when he gave me and my brother our genders.

But anyways, we were bored out of our wits. Even the busy bees looked bored, even the clouds looked bored. Even you look bored.

Until a squeaky voice shattered the air from the yard next to us. We looked up to the face of a child swinging on the gate.

"Hey!" he piped and Germ jumped like the sissy he really was.

"Hey," I groaned back. Germ was speechless and furiously trying to catch his breath.

"My name is Charles Gerald Frederick Arnold Solomon George Francis Baker-Harris, but my folks called me Phil. I'm just gone seven."

"You look downright puny for just gone seven," commented Germ.

"I'm not puny! I'm pretty big!" the child with the stupidly long name that I probably won't be able to remember by the time this story finishes yelled.

"You're puny," I snorted and stood next to him to compare his lack of height with my own. "You barely reach my shoulder, and I'm six."

"So?" Phil looked edgy. "So…I…I can read!"

"Well, so can Scruff," my brother told him, pointing his index finger to my direction.

"And I can do sign language," I boasted. I couldn't really; I was just fibbing.

Phil pouted and Germ handed him a yellow flower. The former looked down at it and raised his eyebrows at the latter, who was beaming with delight. He was so embarrassing.

"Who's that?" Phil pointed to a man the other side of the fence. "Who's that man walking by the road yonder?"

Me and my brother spun round to see a looming figure we had too often seen. It was a grown man in brown tattered clothing holding a sparse array of groceries in a bag. Although he was a fairly young man, his body was slouched and his hair was going silvery.

Germ trembled and said "Well, that's Mr. Bradley Radley. He's the meanest man in the whole of Haycomb."

"Why?" Phil asked, now inquisitive. I know, amazing how many fantastic words I know considering I'm only six.

"Because I gave him a flower the other day and he said he don't like daisies-…"

"Shut the hell up Germ!" I snapped as I clasped my hand forcefully round his mouth.

"That's not the real reason he's the meanest man alive, Phil," I explained. "The reason is because of his son…Moo."

"Moo?" Phil inclined. Germ trembled at the sounding of the wretched name. "Why's he so mean? And why's he called Moo?"

"Well," I gulped as I watched Bradley Radley stride onto the dusty porch of his dusty house on his dusty corner.

"Well, his son Moo is a madman. Once, a long time ago, he was cutting up milk-cartons and he stabbed his daddy in the leg with the scissors. He missed, but he's still evil."

"Wow…" Phil said in awe of what I had told him. By now, Germ was twitching with fright. It was the next stages of the trembles…the dreaded twitches.

"But you still ain't told me somethin'" Phil boomed. "You still ain't told me why he's called Moo."

"Well, nobody really knows for sure, but folks say it's because he thinks he's a cow and all he ever says is 'mooooooooooooo'".

"But that's impossible!" stated Germ. "You said he was a cow, and he's a he, and he can't be a cow because cows can't be he's they have to be she's and he's not a she, he's a he, so he can't be a cow at all!"

"Shut the hell up Germ," I snarled again. "I'm the one telling this story and you're just a lowly side character."

He looked hurt but his attitude changed when he saw our father coming down the road.

Myself and Phil watched my father as he took off his hat to a middle aged woman sitting alone in her garden. Her name was Miss 'Murder' Maudie. She was a deranged old bat that unlike other ladies, taking pride in their flowers, she always sat proudly with her array of explosives at her potential disposal.

She never got caught by the police, because in all honesty, the police in Haycomb are lazy gits that couldn't spot a real criminal even if they came in and confessed that they had been on a genocide rage. They always over looked the obvious ones. Miss 'Murder' Maudie, Moo Radley and one other that I will tell you about later. Stop being nosey.

"Afternoon children!" my father said as he strode in through the gate.

"Hey Platypus!" squealed Germ, getting to his feet. "I got you a bunch of flowers from the garden; aren't they beautiful?"

My father looked shifty and said "Yes, well done son, you make a grown man proud. Nobody has such a talent as you do when it comes to arranging flowers."

It was just flattery of course. Even though I was Germ's junior, he had frequent and severe temper tantrums.

And I know what you are thinking now. Actually, you are probably thinking how I know what you are thinking but trust me; it's all smoke and mirrors.

You're probably thinking why the hell my father is named Platypus. Well, that you can blame on the idiocy of the author of this parody. Why? Because he couldn't think of anything better to rhyme with Atticus, that's why. So don't give the author credit for his rhyming skills because he hasn't got any. He's rubbish. Got that?

But anyways, my father was back inside the house after discreetly throwing Germ's flowers in the dustbin. Myself, Germ and Phil were getting bored again. The trees yawned heavily in the light breeze sweeping past in the scorching heat of our typical Alalalablama day.

We decided it was about time we took our newcomer, Phil, on a tour round town. But on our way to town, we would have to pass the most terrifying and tremblyfying woman in the whole of town.

Mrs. Duboverdose. And she was sat right on the porch of her little house waiting to devour our souls and burn our remains in her fiery fury. Well, not quite, but you get the idea.

"Hey Miss Duboverdose!" I called across politely, giving her a small courtesy. Germ was hiding cowardly behind Phil's legs. I rolled my eyes. Brothers.

"Oh my!" shrieked the old woman. She almost fell out of her creaky old rocking chair. Her eyes widened and her hands were raised above her head and shaking violently.

"I swear I didn't!" she pleaded on her knees to nobody. "I swear! I swear! I never took the children's Easter Eggs, never, never! Please Mr. Easter Bunny, have mercy on a decrepit old fool like me; have mercy! Mercy!"

Yes, and that was normal. See, Mrs. Duboverdose was an LSD addict and had severe hallucinations that would be sparked off by almost anything. So, being a small child with a cruel sense of humour, I chose to torment her and spoke to her whenever possible.

Once, when Germ was younger, he had been picking Mrs. Duboverdose's prized flowers. She got real mad at him and my father Platypus sent him to sing lullabies to her every night. But Germ is such a bad singer than Mrs. Duboverdose chased him round the house with a butter knife just so he would shut up.

And yes, a butter knife. The author of this parody is a very considerate person there is no violence involved as there may be young readers. He doesn't promote violence with knives; misuse of drugs and explosives, yes, but not knives.

Our boring day of boring boredom was getting to a boring close. Phil had been called back to his own yard after giving us the lowdown of how his father was really a Martian with two heads and that he met his mother who was in fact a robot android from the year 3672, they found out about the birds and the bees the practical way and ended up having a perfectly normal human child. Funny, isn't it? I think not.

The only people sane round here were I and Palcurnia. Actually, Germ told me she was a female pedophile, so she's ruled out. Okay, so I was the only sane one in Haycomb. Boring old Haycomb. But it was all about to change.

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_**A/N:** Told you, nothing to it. And yes, that was supposed to be a cliffhanger. Good wasn't it? Don't you just feel gripped? No? Oh well, I tried. Just to let you know, no halluginagenic old ladies were harmed in the making of this parody. The Easter Bunny spared her and she was found to be innocent of stealing childrens easter eggs. Also, don't do drugs, violence, exposives or start calling your daddy Platypus. He might not like it. Tally ho my lovely fellows! I know, Derek, on Fanfiction, yet again! Count yourself lucky, it won't last. Oh, one last word or seven, look out for the next chapter and spare this little boy a review! Later!_


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